


closure.

by likeabomb



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor appearances from Damian and Cass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 23:53:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeabomb/pseuds/likeabomb
Summary: Victory decides between whether forgiveness or recompense is called for.





	closure.

Clarity comes in the form of three sharp souls in the halls of the museum. They stay together, and the way they move makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He stands still, feeling them. The world falls away in favor of the sensation- it’s not new, he can’t remember what new must have felt like- and all his senses are enveloped by them. The eldest in particular. Not the oldest, but definitely older.   
  
Their presence lodges itself in his gut like a rock, unsettling him, making him too curious for his own good.   
  
When Victory feels eyes on him, his grip on the railing he’s leaning on tightens enough to make the metal creak. His hand doesn’t leave the railing for a long moment, but when it does, he has to pull his fingers from the indents he left.   
  
The feeling of someone watching him only compounds, a crushing weight at his back, making it hard to breath. He fights through it though and when he does turn around, that one bright eye staring down the hall at the three Gods, it’s as if all the pressure lifts at once. Were he lesser, he would have stumbled just from the shift in power.   
  
Three sets of eyes stare at him, and he stares back. They know, and so does he. It’s interesting, seeing three together in such a manner, but he knows these three and he knows they gather in larger groups than this. He doesn’t know how they can stand it. His own children are too much for him most of the time.

Transition, Redemption, and Recompense.

They’re Justice’s children. Recompense isn’t normally seen with many of the others, but he supposes they can’t stay too far away.   
  
Victory stands still for a long time before Recompense shoves his hands in his pockets, nodding to the other two to head down the hall and get back to what they were doing. They’re here to look at the artwork, obviously. Some of the works are of them, of the Gods themselves, and some aren’t, but the Gods are so deeply weaved into the people that it’s rare to find art on this scale, grand paintings and larger than life sculptures, that are anything but tributes to the Gods.

Turning back around to look at the statue he’d been standing in front of, he feels a cool rush through him at the sight of it. A soldier, wartorn and ragged, but strong and solid, helping two others to stand. The soldier isn’t of any one time, pieces of him from here and there. He is victorious. They, as a people, have won.   
  
Closing his eye slowly, Victory stands still to just breathe and come down from the feeling of the Gods so close before he wanders out of the museum in search of lunch. There’s a diner around here somewhere…

 

* * *

 

The coffee doesn’t warm him through, but there’s very little that does these days. He wonders if there ever was. It’s hard to remember sometimes.   
  
Victory sits in the diner and enjoys coffee, his empty plate from lunch set to the side to relax for a little while and listen to the murmur of humanity, like a hive of insects, always moving, always making noise. He watches the waitstaff in particular, how they move, how they talk. People all over the little restaurant keep eyeing him, and he can feel their gaze, but it’s hard for humans when there’s a God around, so he can’t say he blames them for having their guard up.

Turning his head, Victory’s eye scans the street outside the diner as he feels the shift in power again. He feels the shift before the crash.

It’s the sound of crunching and scraping, something landing hard in the middle of the street. Cars skid and screech to avoid the impact and Victory is on his feet. Leaving money on the table, he skirts his way through the diner and out the door, the bell chiming behind him as he leaves.   
  
It’s Recompense again, in a small crater in the road. His attacker grabs his head and slams it back into the pavement hard enough to crack it further and Recompense snarls a little, driving a knee up into their stomach and then an elbow to the temple to get out from under them. It doesn’t work as well as he’d like though, and they grab the front of his shirt and headbutt him in the forehead. Dazed for a moment, Recompense reels, and as he does, from the spot their heads collided, the red climbs, like cracks in glass until it’s a solid piece covering his face, a helmet to protect himself. He headbutts them back and pushes them off him before shooting off like a bullet into the alleyway.   
  
When the assailant recovers, shaking their head, they turns their head quickly to see Victory standing there in the middle of the road. The breeze through the streets ruffles their hair and the sirens and upset humans are barely background noise.   
  
Forgiveness.   
  
He looks upset, torn even. He wipes blood off his mouth with the back of his hand, wiping the stark red up the streak of blue to his wrist before he darts off after Recompense, leaving Victory behind. He stares for only a moment after them before he follows.

It’s a fight all across the city and it tugs at Victory’s gut, urging him to follow, to watch, to dictate. Sometimes Recompense has the upper hand, sometimes Forgiveness. They’re evenly matched though, from the crash of the dumpsters in the alleys to the broken skylight on the rooftop. After Recompense slams Forgiveness into one of the gargoyles on one of the roofs, they stop to catch their breath.   
  
Bloodied and bruised but not in the same spots as the beginning of the fight, they both pant softly. No words have been exchanged. Finally they both turn their attention at once to Victory on the next rooftop over and his lingering gaze they can’t shake. They move in sync, like one in the same. They just stare at him, waiting.   
  
Bridging the gap easily, Victory walks across the gravel dusted roof to stand closer to the two of them but he’s smart enough to still keep distance between them.   
  
It’s Recompense who speaks up first though.   
  
“Victory.”   
  
Slade smiles gently, scars tugging at his lips as he watches the two of them.   
  
Dick rolls his eyes a little, and Jason’s face is obscured by the helmet, but they both look fed up with him.   
  
“Why are you here?” Dick demands quietly, standing to wipe blood off his nose this time. Jason keeps headbutting him in the face. It’s an effective strategy to put distance between them.

“A stalemate like this needs a deciding vote. You’re going to keep butting heads- literally- until one of you buckles and gives in,” Slade offers, looking the two of them over. They’re too evenly matched for this to come out with a clear win in either direction without his help.   
  
“So Victory has come to help us sort our shit out,” Jason half snarls, clearly irritated, “This isn’t family therapy, Slade. We don’t need your help.”

“So you’d rather go back to beating the shit out of each other for the next week until one of you gets bored and we pick this back up next week?” Slade presses, his voice a low growl to match Jason’s irritation.   
  
“We’d rather you minded your own damn business, old man,” Jason snaps, turning fully towards him now, “This isn’t your fight. It’s ours.”   
  
“Jason won’t forgive our father,” Dick says suddenly from past Jason and he turns sharp to lunge at him.   
  
The two struggle and fight more, dragging the destruction half across the city again before they wear themselves out again and Slade sits on a railing on the edge of the roof this time.   
  
“Like I said, stalemate.”   
  
“Stay out of it, Slade!” Jason snaps, looking back down at Dick in his grip. Having Slade looking on makes the dam burst and for the first time in a long time in this fight, Jason talks. He still looms over him, his knees on either side of Dick’s hips as he has him pinned to the ground, but it’s progress. It’s the little victories.

“Hysteria should be dead and we both know it, Dick. I don’t give a _shit_ about the natural balance. There is nothing good from that creature, and the fact that he went so far and Justice did nothing, you can’t tell me that’s balance. It’s not fair.”

“Jason, there _is_ no fairness. What happened _wasn’t_ fair. You’re right.” Dick’s hands settle on Jason’s wrists where his hands are tight in the front of his uniform. It’s torn and burned, just like Jason’s own is. “But killing Hysteria wouldn’t have helped. It would have driven dad mad. Hysteria would have won.”   
  
“Don’t you _dare_ give me that bullshit, Dick! Justice doing away with Hysteria wouldn’t have made him _crazy_. Hysteria has taken too many lives, and still takes too many lives, and where is Justice? Where is Retribution? Locking him away in Arkham doesn’t bring back those people who died, Dick!”   
  
“I know it doesn’t!” Dick bites back, the hurt and stress finally showing in his voice. He stares up at Jason, breathing hard for a different reason than their fight now. “I know it doesn’t, Jason, believe me.”   
  
Jason’s own breath catches when he realizes what Dick means and his grip loosens a little. Dick’s hands are slow and gentle as they pull Jason’s fingers from the front of his uniform.   
  
“I know it doesn’t bring back the people who died, but we try to make sure that he can’t do it again. We try to make sure he can’t take anyone from us anymore.”   
  
Jason’s voice sounds a little wet when he speaks up again, “But he always gets out. He gets out, or his followers take it upon themselves.” He heaves a hard exhale, “Why won’t you just break the cycle, Dick?”   
  
“Jason, it’s not the way of things,” Dick tries, his voice still gentle, “It won’t-”   
  
“No!” He slams his hands hard into Dick’s chest again, grabbing his uniform to pull him up a little, voice soft and nothing but venom, “You’re both fucking cowards.”   
  
With a rough growl he slams Dick back down into the pavement and he’s gone again, leaping the span of a few buildings with a jump off the railing. Dick lays dazed on the roof. Rolling over, he coughs hard and spits out blood across the loose rocks. He doesn’t move from where he is for a long moment. He’s tired.   
  
“So when is the part you gloat?”   
  
Slade shifts his gaze from Dick to where Jason had leapt off and he draws a slow, even breath. He looks back at him as he’s sitting up and this time he doesn’t bother wiping the blood off his face. Slade doesn’t say anything at first, just watches him and thinks about all of it.   
  
“You talk about the death of Hysteria like it’s something that would destabilize everything-”   
  
“Because Gods can’t kill each other, Slade. You know that!”   
  
Deadpanned staring at him, he waits until Dick shrinks a little under his hard gaze, “I know, Dick. Just like you know.”   
  
“Then-”   
  
“Then why was it alright for Hysteria to murder Recompense and not for Recompense to murder him? Isn’t that balance?”   
  
“Hysteria won’t come back,” Dick tries to reason.   
  
“And no one thought it Jason would either.”   
  
He’s talking Dick into a hole, backing him into a corner. He hasn’t move a muscle, but he can feel Dick losing ground, and so can he. His voice is soft and he won’t look up at Slade. “Victory, please don’t do this…”

Pushing himself off the railing, he crosses the roof to crouch in front of Dick, defeated and bloodied. He tilts his chin up with a finger to make him look at Slade.   
  
“Forgiveness can come later, Dick. Right now, let him win. Jason is going to become something else if he isn’t allowed the closure he needs. He might kill Hysteria, and he might not go through with it, but he needs to be allowed the option to choose. He is Recompense. And he will know better than anyone else what the proper compensation will be when the time comes. Keeping him from even making that decision is keeping him from himself.”   
  
Slade watches the way his eyes shift as he realizes that Slade is right. He lets go of Dick’s chin and he lets his head drop with a soft sigh. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear he’s thinking about it.   
  
Taking a step back, Slade offers a hand out to him, looking him over. Dick takes the hand without looking, and when he pulls himself to his feet, he keeps that grip for a few long moments to stare at the old scarred soldier.   
  
Nodding once, Dick turns and runs, stepping up onto the railing and launching himself off in the direction Jason had gone. They can feel each other. They’re children of Justice. They’ll find each other like they always do, and with the victory decided, they’ll come to terms with this.   
  
Forgiveness can come later. Jason can forgive Bruce when he’s had time to grieve his own death at Joker’s hands. But first they all need to be allowed that time to grieve.   
  
Death is a constant, and with it, grief.   
  
Slade knows it’s difficult, he knows Anguish and Longing. Tenacity and Consequence. But just like everything else, they are just part of how the world works and without them, they’re left with nothing. The good and the bad.

There is always time for forgiveness after closure.


End file.
